I love Target. There, I said it out loud and informed the Universe. Hopefully the Target God is listening and will send some freebies my way. And by freebies I do not mean bathing suits. Please. Unless they also throw in a family sized bottle of Xanax. And sedatives. The people I live with will need both because if another damn bikini crosses my path I will shriek high enough to shatter all glass anythings and bring air liners crashing from the sky within a 5 mile radius, pace endlessly muttering curse words to myself and force Mr. Man to lock up all available ammo. Stop laughing. Like you love bathing suits.
Anyway, so I went to Target at lunch to scope out some Easter offerings for The Girl,The Man, The Crabbit & The Dog. In my head we (me and all of my personalities) decided we would buy a little candy but make most of the basket stuff usable...like cute pens, socks, t-shirts and chew toys. Because after all, I AM trying to lose a whole person in weight (-11.4lbs. as of this morning, thank you very much) and a mountain of Peeps is not what I need stalking me at home. See, I was all prepared for the Willy Wonka gauntlet I was about to run with a plan and the right attitude. On top of that, the sun is shining, the unicorns and butterflies are out and what could possibly go wrong with today?
Two steps into the Target and the dark clouds roll in, an emotional earthquake shakes my nerve and I think I just peed myself. Or spilled my coffee on myself. Doesn't matter, a wet crotch is a wet crotch and there's nothing to be gained by trying to explain away the wet spot. Who. The. Hell. Put those bikinis directly across from the fucking Cadbury Eggs?
I look to my left and there are chocolate bunnies and eggs, Peeps, Reese's everythings, M&M's, cookies, and cupcakes. Everything possible to make my ass as big as one of those giant pink blow up gorillas you see on car dealerships. To my right, floral this, nautical thats and sparkly red others. Two piece, one piece and uni pieces. All in sizes I am fairly certain my ankle will not fit into. Really? Are they serious? Hey Target, if ever you want to taunt me into a full on postal attack followed by an epic emotional break down, just stop selling cute flip flops ok? Or simply ask me to have a freak out. What kind of sick bastards arrange merchandise like that? I feel like I have instantly been dropped into the retail version of The Saw. Choose wisely, or you might meet a nasty painful demise in the dressing room. Thanks Target, you officially suck.